Much, Indeed
by MrsStarkey
Summary: John wakes up one morning to find that Mary has left. He moves back in with Sherlock and tries to get his life back on track, feeling less than devastated. Eventual Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

He couldn't believe it.

It will be a month tomorrow. A month since Mary left. She left nothing behind, not even a note. John awoke to an empty bed and a bare closet.

He supposed it was something to do with her past. He never did look at that bloody memory stick, so he hadn't the faintest idea _what _it was, but he was sure his hypothesis was true. She left no signs of her ever living there, even taking all the pictures she was in from the mantel. She, all of her, was gone.

The only thing that John got from Mary was a text a few days after she left, containing only a sentence.

_ "I love you. -Mary"_

Now it's been a month. After the initial shock of it all, he moved back to 221B partly at Sherlock's request, but also because he was lonely. It was clear that she wasn't coming back and John needed a friend. He needed something normal in his life, and this, he realized, was Sherlock and Baker Street. Normal was eyeballs in the microwave and skulls on the mantelpiece.

As he got back into his everyday routine, he surprised himself. He wasn't as devastated as he would expect. In fact, it was much worse when Sherlock was gone. Of course, he presumed Sherlock to be dead. Still, he would've predicted himself to be more upset at the fact that his wife had just left with no notice, but he was more shocked than anything else- and then there was the baby. Sometimes he would actually find himself smiling to be back in his old flat with Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, and the various dead people in the fridge. It felt right to be there. It felt natural.

His thought process came to an end when Mrs. Hudson came in with tea and biscuits, cheerily greeting him as she walked by and setting the tray among an abundance of experiments, including a group of Petri dishes which appeared to be growing a mold which was the most beastly shade of purple. She wrinkled her nose before turning and giving John a smile.

John got up and flicked the dark haired man, who was on the couch, right on the forehead, dragging him from his mind palace and back into reality. He slowly opened his eyes and glared at John's turned back as he slowly sat up to join them for tea.

Sherlock was trying his best not to be as much of a dick to John as usual, due to the circumstances, so he bit back an insult. Mrs. Hudson offered him a biscuit when he sat in the chair across from John. He had just eaten yesterday, but he took it anyway with every intention of putting it back when she wasn't looking. Sherlock knew she wouldn't leave him alone if he didn't.

John and Mrs. Hudson sat and drank tea and had a dull conversation about politics while Sherlock was silent. He wasn't bored, however, despite the conversation. No, Sherlock wasn't bored in the slightest because Sherlock wasn't listening, he was watching. Watching John. He watched his lips move, forming words with his beautiful voice. He watched every twinkle of his eyes, every hand movement, and every occasional smile. He watched the most interesting, beautiful, and non-boring person, and it was the best conversation he'd ever had, despite the fact that he didn't even know what they were talking about.

When tea was finished and Mrs. Hudson had left, Sherlock went immediately to his purple petri dishes, carefully putting a sample on a slide and examining it under his microscope while John attempted to clean the flat.

Sherlock could barely focus on his data. John was making far too much noise with all his shuffling about. He looked up and watched his blogger some more as he cleaned. going back to his eyepiece whenever the man could see him.

_Just do it. He's unnatached now._

No, he couldn't. John would be too distraught to even think about such things. Of course, that's what Sherlock would think. He must be, right? He was never wrong in his deductions, and John didn't seem to be very upset at all. Then again, he _was_ gay.

_Don't deny you haven't noticed. He obviously loves you. You're never wrong._

He told himself this over and over, but it was no use. He wouldn't dare. He ran his fingers through his hair and, after much arguing with himself, just went back to his slides, his pen scurrying across the paper just as John was scurrying through his mind palace, breaking things and causing mayhem.


	2. Chapter 2

He had it. Moriarty. He finally had him, nearly in his grasp. Except it wasn't Moriarty. He was equally clever, equally evil, but it wasn't him, which was obvious from the start, but only to him. He carefully explored his mind palace to try and find anything else before he made his move. This was delicate. Very delicate.

Sherlock stayed perfectly still as John ambled down the stairs and into the kitchen, ignoring his flatmate and walking into the kitchen to make coffee.

_That's funny. He usually says good morning, _thought Sherlock, although his feelings were hardly hurt.

While the blonde man made his coffee, clinking was louder than usual and more constant, and the way the doctor slumped in his usual chair after dropping the kettle on told Sherlock that something was wrong.

"Something is troubling you." The detective stated without shifting position or opening his eyes. John let go of an annoyed sigh and looked over, swallowing loudly before speaking.

"Really, Sherlock? I wonder what it is. I wonder what the _bloody hell _is bothering me." he said with a growl, turning his head from Sherlock after he spoke, tapping his fingers on the arm rest with annoyance. With this, Sherlock opened his eyes and slowly sat up, looking at John.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Asked Sherlock quietly, obviously offended but trying to stay calm. John looked over immediately, surprised by the fact that Sherlock Holmes had just offered to talk to him about an emotional issue. After a few seconds of weird looks, the tall man slid over to one side of the couch, silently inviting John to join him. John, once again surprised at the invitation, hesitated before taking a seat next to Sherlock. They sat in silence until Sherlock said, "Well?"

"It's not Mary." John said in a whisper. Taking a deep breath, his head in his hands, he choked out, "It's the baby."

After the more silence, John continued.

"It was my baby, too. She was carrying _my_ child. She was carrying a part of _me_. She was _mine_!"

He yelled the last part, startling Sherlock and making him shift uncomfortably. John never yelled. The detective turned to see tears welling in his friend's eyes, and, John, realizing this, turned away from Sherlock, embarrassed.

"I- I just can't believe she would leave with my baby." he said quietly, trying desperately to hold back the tear that were trapped in his eyes. Sherlock sat for a moment, trying to think about what to do. With much debate with himself, he decided on the best thing to do. Silently and softly, he pulled John into a hug, ignoring his flatmate's hafhearted protests of "Sherlock..." and "No... Stop it" and only hugging him more tightly. after a while, John returned the hug, wrapping his arms around his friend loosely and letting tears silently travel down his cheeks and stain the detective's shoulder.

As Sherlock held him, he felt better. He was surprised by the man's newfound sympathy and warmth, and, as they broke away, Sherlock rose to take the kettle off the stove which had just begun to whistle. John slumped back on the couch and was presented with a hot cup of coffee a minute later. He took it and moved back to his chair as Sherlock took his usual spot on the couch once again as if nothing had changed, even though everything had. The anguish in john's heart had been lessened, at least for now, by none other than Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective.


	3. Chapter 3

Running. All they could concentrate on was running. The car was moving fast and John's adrenaline was pumping at almost the same speed as he tried to read the small license plate and, at the same time, keep up. His pen was frantically jotting down every number and letter he could make out onto his palm, and, at last, he got the last letter.

"Got it!" he yelled, and they both slowed to a stop, panting and breathless. Sherlock, after catching his breath, took John's hand and read it, immediately entering it all in his hard drive. They were in an alleyway in London and leaned against the brick building as Sherlock paced back and forth, his mind racing. John watched him and saw the glint in his eye that was only there when his mind was in overdrive.

_His brain is so fantastic_

This thought passed through John's head just as it did almost every day with his friend and suddenly, Sherlock screamed.

It was loud and full of so much truimph, and John could see that he knew. He knew exactly what it meant, exactly what the code was. He had figured it out just as he had a million times before, yet this was obviously different. He could tell. This was Sherlock's hardest and longest case, and John could tell by the look on his friend's face that this was better than anything he had done in the past.

"You did it?" John asked excitedly, knowing the answer. Sherlock ignored him, still pacing and smiling to himself, laughing and screaming out loud for all of London. John had never seen the detective so happy. Finally he uttered something other than a yell.

"John, it was so simple. so clever. 2E08P6Jk. How did I not see it? It's brilliant!"

He exclaimed this and then ran over the John with a familiar smirk. He looked at John, still smiling, and whispered with relish in his voice,

"We've done it, John."

And then they were kissing. Sherlock was holding John's face in his large, white hands, and John coud tell that Sherlock's smile never broke. John stood in amazement for a few seconds before he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and kissed him right back. Sherlock, having kept all his tension cooped up for far too long, seemed to want to explore the whole of John's body as quickly as possible. He ran his hands down the shorter man's back and then up his waist, never breaking contact with his lips. He grabbed him forcefully and closed what little distance their bodies had, passionately embracing his blogger as they kissed.

Just when John thought Sherlock would suffocate, he broke the kiss and John immediately went for the taller man's neck. Before they knew it, the kissing had stopped and they were just embracing each other as tightly as possible, not saying a word. They stayed like this until John realized that there were people walking past on the sidewalk, and he breathed,

"I think we should go home now, Sherlock."

"I think that'd be best." he said casually, and then took John's hand, breaking the embrace, and led him out to the sidewalk where he called a taxi.

"We have much to do before presenting the information to LeStrade tomorrow, John" Sherlock said as they climbed into the taxi. When they were in and the driver departed, Sherlock looked at John with his usual smirk and whispered,

"Much, indeed."


End file.
